


days we were whole

by radialarch



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Pre-Avengers (2012), Road Trips, Steve's sadness errands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:46:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3826183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radialarch/pseuds/radialarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve wakes up off the ice. Then the Winter Soldier breaks into his house and takes him on a road trip. </p><p>They see a little of 21st-century America and a lot of each other, and maybe they each learn something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	days we were whole

**Author's Note:**

> I swore when I started writing this that this wouldn't be a road trip fic. A month and 13k later, yeah, it's a road trip fic. I couldn't have written this without Sara, who patiently listened to me agonize about researching, well, everything. Thank you ♥

SHIELD gets him an apartment in Brooklyn. That’s how they debrief him: with file folders passed over a small kitchen table, while Steve looks out at a city that's changed so much while he was gone.

"Captain Rogers,” the woman — agent — says. She might be repeating herself. "Do you understand?”

Steve looks down at the table. The folder marked _People_ is spilling its contents over his lap. He picks up a brief. It has Dum Dum’s picture at the top. Stamped across the paper in large letters is the word _DECEASED_.

Steve looks up. "I’m sorry,” he says, and tries for a smile. "I think I need a little time.”

———

Someone stocked his pantry for him. There’s bread on the counter by the microwave. He takes out a slice and bites into it. It’s thin, airy. He finishes it in two bites.

He scrapes butter onto two more slices and heats them up. They slowly turn crisp, browned with heat. He waits for them to cool, eats them one by one standing in front of the stove.

Even the milk tastes different.

He peels an orange still cold from the refrigerator. He bites into the first slice, and the juice bursts onto his tongue, cool and sweet.

He remembers, like something he’d long folded away: Bucky, sneaking him an orange when Steve was sick with cold. The sweetness had surprised him then, too.

———

He is slowly learning this new New York. He walks to Manhattan. He stops at a cafe to order coffee and sits at a table outside to draw.

He’s by Stark Tower. Tony Stark’s profile had been in one of Steve’s debriefing packets. Steve looks at the tall, imposing lines of the tower. It’s a building that demands attention. He wonders what Tony’s got to prove.

He draws the tower anyway, its sweeping lines and curves and shadows. The waitress refills his coffee and smiles at him.

The sketchbook is new. He’d bought it himself, standing in the aisle and wondering if he wanted his paper acid-free. He doesn’t know where his old one is, if it’s buried in Europe somewhere or if some museum’s got hold of it. He wonders, very sharply, if any of his things made it back to the Barneses.

Steve had drawn Bucky countless times, because he was the only one around who’d let him. Then it became a habit. He draws him now, onto the lower half of the page. The planes of Bucky’s face. He smudges in the softness of his eyelashes and the full curve of his mouth.

When he’s done, he leans back and looks at the page. It’s not quite Bucky. There’s something wrong with it — the slant of his nose, or the slope of his forehead. He can’t get it right. He stops trying.

It wouldn’t have been accurate anyway. As the war wore on, there was a hardness to Bucky’s eyes that Steve never managed to catch. He thinks maybe he was afraid to.

———

He goes to the gym. He breaks a lot of punching bags.

He’s training like there’s still a war on but it’s clear there isn’t anymore. Rationing’s over and there are no recruitment posters on the streets. No one has blackout curtains.

The thing is, he hadn’t really thought about what he’d do when the war was over. He’d thought, vaguely, of home, and even more vaguely of Peggy. But mostly he hadn’t thought about the future at all; his life had been Hydra and Bucky and the Commandos, and sometimes he wonders if he hadn’t wanted that to last forever.

He’s only been Captain America for two years but already it’s hard to remember a time when he wasn’t a weapon.

———

He goes to the cemetery. It’s easy to take the right turns to his parents’ graves, but he stops still at the sight of the gravestones.

He’d come here the day before he shipped out. He’d stood by those very stones and told them that he was leaving. He kept his chin up and his voice didn’t waver, and he thought that maybe they’d be proud.

The stones have a weathered look to them now, the letters worn half off the surface. He presses his fingers against the carving on his mother’s gravestone. All these years, and it turns out that the grief is still fresh.

He sets down the flowers he’d bought that morning and kneels there, his hands at his sides. "Ma,” he says, "Dad,” and then he chokes on everything he wants to say. For one terrible moment, he wants to be a child again, to be secure in the belief that he’d have them forever.

He finally forces out, "I don’t know what to do.” His voice breaks at the end; he wipes his eyes.

He’s holding his breath, waiting for something. The stones stand there, a wordless matched pair.

Steve lets out a watery laugh. He picks himself up, dusts off his knees. "It’s good to see you,” he tells them. "It really is.”

———

It takes three days for Steve to realize he’s being watched. He expects it’s SHIELD.

He’s not naive. For them he’s a myth brought back to life, another element of uncertainty in an already uncertain world. It’d be foolish of them not to keep an eye on him.

But the surveillance wears him down. He goes running for hours just to escape the creeping feeling between his shoulderblades. He keeps his showers quick and rolls into his bed after.

He doesn’t sleep well. Sometimes he wonders if the ice wasn’t a better end for him.

———

The window is open. That’s Steve’s first thought when he wakes up.

His second thought is, “Bucky?”

Because Bucky is sitting at the foot of his bed. Bucky is alive and _right here_ , close enough to touch. Steve blinks sleep out of his eyes and reaches out for Bucky’s hand. It’s warm and callused under Steve’s palm.

Steve gives into the urge, then, and pulls Bucky into a hug. Bucky’s holding himself oddly but he leans into the hug, lets Steve bury his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky says, very softly into Steve’s ear, "Do you trust me?”

Steve lets go, looks up to see Bucky bring a finger to his lips. He nods. It’s Bucky. He’d trust him anywhere.

Bucky slides off the bed and tilts his head at the window. As Steve watches, he climbs out the window, gesturing for Steve to follow.

Steve picks up his shield and goes.

———

Bucky has a car idling down the street. He slides into the driver’s seat; Steve stashes his shield in the back and climbs in the passenger side.

“Bucky,” he finally says. He can’t keep his voice from shaking. "You’re alive.”

Bucky gives a short little laugh and starts driving. "So are you,” he says. "You shouldn’t be so surprised.”

He supposes Bucky has a point. "How?” he asks anyway. "SHIELD found me in the ice. You fell off the train.”

"You could say SHIELD found me, too,” Bucky says, rather grimly.

Steve’s first reaction is shock. "SHIELD knows you’re alive?” he says. "They didn’t tell me —”

"SHIELD has a lot of secrets.” Bucky sounds unimpressed. "Even from itself.”

Steve knows this is true. He’s known it since he woke up in a staged New York. “Bucky,” he says after a moment, "where are we going?”

Bucky grins. It’s a painfully familiar expression that makes Steve’s throat constrict. "We’re taking a road trip.”

———

They end up at a motel that looks like it’s seen better days. They skip the checkout desk; Bucky herds him into a room on the second floor and locks the door.

Steve sits down on the bed. "I can’t believe it’s you,” he says. In the light he can see the familiar lines of his face. His hair might be longer and his jaw dark with stubble, but he’d know Bucky, always, anywhere. “Bucky, I —” the rest of his words catch in his chest. He draws Bucky in for another hug instead.

Bucky untangles himself from Steve’s arms gently. He looks at Steve for a minute and then pulls his gloves off. Steve blinks; the light shines off Bucky’s left hand like it’s made of metal.

"Tell me what happened to you,” Steve says, chest suddenly aching. "Please.”

Bucky follows Steve’s gaze and gives a harsh laugh. "They gave it to me when they found me,” he says. "That much I remember.”

"You don’t remember all of it?”

"No,” Bucky admits, sitting down beside Steve. "They took my memories away.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. "How much?” he asks. "What do you know?”

"I know how to kill,” Bucky says.

Steve waits, but Bucky doesn’t say any more. “Bucky,” Steve says cautiously, "Do you know me?”

Bucky’s face is uncertain. "I know — you’re important to me,” he says. "That’s why I came to find you.”

"You don’t remember who you are, do you.” The realization hits Steve like a physical blow. "You don’t know.”

"Sergeant James Barnes,” Bucky says. "That’s who I’m supposed to be.”

"That _is_ you,” Steve says. He presses a hand to Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky. You’re my best friend.”

Bucky shakes the hand off. "Was,” he says.

Steve swallows down all the protests that bubble up. "Okay,” he says. "We’ll figure this out.” He watches Bucky for a while, pacing in front of the bathroom. “Bucky,” he says — "Can I call you Bucky?”

Bucky stops pacing to look up. "I like it,” he says eventually. "When you call me that.”

Steve smiles. Bucky smiles at him, too, cautious but hopeful.

Steve kicks off his shoes and leans back on the bed. "When’d you find out about me?” he asks.

"Few weeks,” Bucky says. "Not long.”

"A few weeks? Why didn’t you come to me before? I would’ve helped — I would’ve —”

"I know,” Bucky says. "I had to make sure they hadn’t got to you.”

"What?”

"The same people who got to me.” Bucky flexes the fingers of his metal hand. "Hydra.”

That’s the last thing Steve expects to hear. “Bucky,” he says. "I thought you said SHIELD found you.”

"SHIELD _is_ Hydra,” Bucky says, very fast. "I don’t know how, and I don’t know how long, but they got to us, Steve. They got in.”

Steve closes his eyes and lets out a breath through his nose. He remembers the chill of the Arctic — he’d thought that Schmidt was the end. He’d thought it’d be okay, to go.

Men had died for that. _Bucky_ had died for that.

Steve’s hands are shaking. He presses them beneath his thighs and looks up.

"Are you okay?” Bucky says.

"I should be asking you that,” Steve says. "What did they do to you? How did you escape?”

Bucky shakes his head. "It doesn’t matter,” he says.

"Of course it matters!”

"No, it doesn’t!” Bucky suddenly looks furious. "I already know what happened to me. I found you because I thought you’d _help_.”

"I want to,” Steve says. “Bucky, I do.”

"Then stop asking stupid questions and help me!” Bucky whips around and makes a frustrated gesture with his hands. Steve gets up from the bed and takes Bucky’s hands in his own.

"Okay, Buck,” he says, smoothing Bucky’s fingers out. "Just tell me what you need.”

Bucky looks down at where their hands are joined. "It’s late,” he says eventually. "Let’s get to bed and start out tomorrow.”

———

There’s only one bed. "I’ll take the floor,” Steve says when Bucky comes out of the bathroom.

"Why?” Bucky tilts his head. "I remember this.”

"Oh,” Steve says. It all comes back to Steve at once — winters in Brooklyn when blankets weren’t enough, when they huddled together with their heads on the same pillow. "Yeah,” he said slowly. "We did that.”

Bucky climbs into the bed first. "What?” he asks when he sees Steve standing there.

"Nothing.” Steve shakes his head and slides under the sheets.

The last time they’d done this had been the winter of ‘43. Steve had still been small back then — he fit against Bucky’s chest, his head tucked beneath Bucky’s chin.

It’s not like that now. They’ve both put on muscle; Steve is nearly a foot taller. They fumble around awkwardly before Bucky stretches out his left arm (and christ, they’d taken it all up to the shoulder). "Put your head on that,” he says. "It won’t hurt.”

"Thanks,” Steve says. He fits his head to the curve of Bucky’s wrist and closes his eyes.

He breathes in Bucky’s scent, feels the warmth of his body at his side. It’s almost like everything he’s wanted for years.

———

When Steve wakes up, Bucky’s still asleep. He can feel Bucky’s even breathing against the back of his neck, Bucky’s arm thrown over his body.

Steve closes his eyes and relaxes into Bucky’s grasp. Maybe he could have this, he thinks. He could tell Bucky about the way he’s wanted, for as long as he’s known want.

But that wouldn’t be right. Bucky needs him right now. Bucky needs him to be a friend.

"I can tell you’re awake,” Bucky says, voice sleep-raspy. "Thinking hard.”

“Oh.” Steve jerks up. Bucky’s arms tighten around him for a moment and then let him go. "Hi.”

"What are you thinking?”

"Just wondering what you wanted to do,” Steve says. "About everything.”

"SHIELD will be searching for you,” Bucky says in Steve’s ear, before he yawns and sits up.

"And Hydra.” Steve frowns. "I can’t believe they were right here, and I didn’t even know it.”

"They had years to hide,” Bucky says. He presses a hand to Steve’s knee. "You would’ve figured it out eventually.”

"We have to do something about it,” Steve says.

Bucky rubs his face with his good hand. "Not yet,” he says. "Last time you had an army behind you. This time, Hydra’s strong, and you’ve just got me.”

"We can’t just stand by and do nothing!”

“Steve,” Bucky says. "Hydra’s deeply embedded within SHIELD. Trust me, I know. We’ll have a chance to get Hydra. Now’s not the time.”

Steve feels ashamed at once. Bucky’s the one who’s been hurt by Hydra. If he wants to wait, Steve will wait as long as he needs.

"Okay,” Steve says. "So we run.”

"We run,” Bucky agrees. "And we get my memories back. I’m tired of not knowing who I am.”

———

They grab breakfast on the first floor. Bucky’s put his gloves back on; he gets the coffee, dumps two sugars and a cream into Steve’s.

"Thanks,” Steve says. It’s just a small thing but the taste of it makes his chest go tight. He passes Bucky a bagel out of the toaster and tries not to put too much meaning into it.

Bucky has a map of New York in the glove compartment of the car. Unfolded, it takes up the entire dashboard. "Let’s get you out of here,” he says, and bites into his bagel. "Wanna see Canada, or should we stick with the States?”

Steve is dizzy with the possibilities. They used to talk like this. "Where should we go?” Bucky would ask, smoothing their map out onto the floor. "San Francisco,” Steve would say, pressing his finger onto California, or, "Colorado. The mountains.” Bucky would nudge his elbow into Steve’s side and flop down on the floor next to him, grinning up at Steve like it was all he wanted in the world.

"We’re gonna do it,” Bucky used to say. "Just you and me, Steve, we’re gonna see the world.”

Then Bucky had shipped out and the USO tour had swallowed Steve whole. They’d taken Steve all around the country, but it had been a bright and flashy thing — and through it all, Steve had missed Bucky, all the trips they never had.

Steve dredges up a faded memory, one he could never bear to give up on. "The Grand Canyon,” he says, looking into Bucky’s eyes. "We used to talk about it.”

"Did we?” Bucky’s face is smooth. He takes another bite of his bagel and looks down at the map. Steve watches Bucky press a finger down to the edge of the paper.

"I don’t have anywhere else to be,” Bucky finally says. He smiles. "And it might be fun.”

———

They take I-78 out of New York. Bucky drives.

"Hey, Buck?” Steve says tentatively as they enter Pennsylvania. "Can I ask you something?”

"Sure,” Bucky says. He keeps his eyes on the road. "What?”

"Did it hurt?” Steve asks. He tries to keep his voice light. "What they did to your arm.”

Bucky lets out a short, surprised laugh. His hand tightens on the steering wheel.

"You don’t have to answer that,” Steve says. He doesn’t know what he expected.  "I just. Wondered.”

They keep driving. Bucky is silent. Steve stretches out his legs and turns his head toward the window. He watches the trees passing by, blurred swathes of green.

"Yeah,” he thinks he hears Bucky say, very low. "It did.”

———

They make it to Columbus before sundown. Steve sees the sign and tells Bucky to take the next exit.

"I don’t need much sleep,” Bucky says. "I can keep going for a while longer.”

Steve is tired, and he hadn’t even been driving. He can’t imagine how Bucky feels.

Bucky didn’t used to be like this. "We’re not all machines like you,” he used to say. "Give us a break and let’s set up camp.” He wonders who taught Bucky otherwise.

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly. "Please.”

Bucky shoots him a glance and his shoulders go tight. He merges onto the off ramp without another word.

———

Bucky tells Steve to stay in the car. Steve sits still and watches through the motel’s front window as Bucky checks them in. Bucky pays in cash. For the first time, Steve wonders where he got the money.

And then Bucky’s back, sliding into the driver’s seat and passing Steve a key. "Room 113,” he tells him. "Don’t open the curtains. Take this.”

He closes Steve’s hand around a semi-automatic pistol. Steve stows it against the small of his back.

"Where are you going?”

"Supplies,” Bucky says, cryptic. "I’ll knock: two short, one long.”

Steve stumbles out of the car, feeling his muscles ache after being tense all day. Bucky leans over to close the door and backs out of the parking spot.

"Don’t do anything stupid,” Bucky tells him out of the driver’s seat window.

Steve watches the tail lights turn into the street. "How can I,” he mutters, very soft. "You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

———

It takes Bucky an hour to get back. Steve’s pacing in front of the door when Bucky knocks.

"I don’t like splitting up,” Steve blurts out, yanking Bucky inside. Then he winces at how he must sound.

Bucky doesn’t react, just starts pulling things out of his bag. "I got us phones,” he says. He slices through a plastic-wrapped package and tosses Steve something small. Steve flips it open and looks curiously at the tiny screen.

"If we get separated,” Bucky says. "Here. This is my number.”

Steve programs Bucky’s number into his phone and then tucks it into his pocket. Bucky does the same and dumps the rest of his bag onto the bed. A box of snack bars. Two vitamin drinks. More maps.

"Hair dye?” Steve asks, picking up the box.

"They might be looking for us,” Bucky says. "It’d be safer. I thought about doing mine, but it’s easier to go darker.” He looks a bit apologetic.

"No, it’s fine,” Steve says. He looks at the picture on the box. It’s a dark brown, nearly the same as Bucky’s hair. "Should I do it now?”

"If you want.”

"No point waiting.” Steve takes the box into the bathroom. He leaves the door open.

He pulls on gloves before mixing the bottle of dye. It smells sharp, chemical. He takes a look at himself in the mirror, and then leans over the sink and starts working the dye into his hair.

It doesn’t take very long. His hair sticks up in clumps when he’s finished. He twists around trying to make sure he got all the hair in the back. The box says wait five minutes before rinsing. He perches on the edge of the bathtub counting the seconds.

It’s a relief to run cool water over his head. Strands of his hair slide through his fingers. The water runs dark, then clear, into the sink.

He straightens up and rubs at his hair with a towel until it stops dripping down his neck. When he’s finished, he looks up to see Bucky standing outside the bathroom.

"How does it look?” Steve asks.

His bangs are falling into his eyes. He frowns at them. Bucky makes an amused noise and steps into the bathroom to sweep the damp hair to the side. "It looks good,” he says softly.

Steve feels something in his belly tighten. The bathroom is small, and Bucky’s standing very close; he can still feel Bucky’s touch on his forehead.

Steve clears his throat. "We should.” he gestures vaguely. "Sleep.”

Bucky frowns and opens his mouth, and then looks away. "Yeah,” he says. "Okay.”

———

Steve wakes the next morning to find Bucky already up, chewing on a snack bar. He tears open another one and passes it to Steve.

"Thanks,” he says. The bar is crunchy and sweet; he swallows it down in chunks and reaches for another.

"Tell me something,” Bucky says suddenly. "Were you smaller?”

Steve lets out a startled laugh. "Yeah,” he says. "Real skinny, and a lot shorter, too.”

"So how’d you get like this?”

Steve tells the story carefully. "There was a doctor,” he says. "Came up with a serum that could — fix people. Make them better. He took a chance on me.”

"Oh,” Bucky says. He breaks the last snack bar in two and gives Steve the bigger half. "Why doesn’t everyone have it?”

"The doctor,” Steve says. He talks through the lump in his throat. "He was — he died.”

Bucky swallows and puts a hand on Steve’s knee. "Sorry,” he says.

Steve gives him a small smile. "Don’t worry about it,” he says. "It was a long time ago.”

Bucky nods. He eats the last of his snack bar and looks back at Steve. "So,” he says, "do you feel fixed?”

Steve exhales. He doesn’t have asthma anymore and his heart beats steady but it’s 2011 and he is still alive. Dr. Erskine had thought that Steve was a good man but Steve is still learning all the ways that he is a coward and someone else’s weapon.

"I don’t know,” he finally says. "Some days.”

———

Steve’s been wearing the same clothes for two days. "You need more clothes,” Bucky declares after check-out and drives them to a Target.

Steve gets two pairs of pants and a pack of white T-shirts. After some thought, he also throws in a packet of briefs and several pairs of socks.

Bucky tosses him a couple of plaid shirts and shrugs when Steve raises an eyebrow. "In case it gets cold,” he says, and goes back to looking at boots.

"Do you need anything?” Steve asks.

Bucky considers the question. "Could use some more food,” he declares, and wheels their cart into the cereal aisle. Steve watches him pick out two boxes of something with nuts and raisins.

"Sugar and protein,” Bucky explains. "Maybe we should get some peanut butter.”

They do end up getting a jar of peanut butter, along with a box of plastic spoons. At check-out, Bucky pays with several twenties, and passes Steve the change.

"Do you need more money?” Bucky asks while Steve’s changing in a stall in the men’s bathroom.

"No.” Steve’s answer comes out muffled. He pulls on his T-shirt properly and shakes his hair out of his face. “Bucky, where did you get the money?”

"I raided a Hydra safehouse.” Bucky sounds uncertain. "Is that bad?”

Steve is relieved. "No, that’s — more than fair,” he says. He decides not to ask about the car.

In the parking lot, they stow everything in the back. Steve’s shield they shove under the seat so it’s a little less obvious.

“Bucky,” Steve says when they’re finished. "You should let me drive.”

Bucky hesitates. "Do you know where we’re going?”

"You can read the map,” Steve says. When Bucky still looks unconvinced, Steve sighs. "You drove all day yesterday,” he says. "You need a break.”

"You learned to drive in a war-zone,” Bucky says, and then looks surprised. "Did you?”

"Yeah,” Steve says. "So did you.”

"Oh,” Bucky says. "I don’t remember that.”

They’d stolen a truck in Nazi Germany. Dum Dum had been injured and Gabe in the other truck; someone had shoved Steve in the driver’s seat and shouted, "Go!”, and Steve had put his hands on the steering wheel and thumped on the accelerator. He remembers Bucky in his ear, yelling, "Clutch!”, and the jerky way the truck had shot forward before stalling.

Their car’s an automatic this time. It’ll be easy.

"Trust me, it’ll be fine,” Steve says, and after a moment’s pause Bucky digs into his pocket and drops the key into Steve’s palm.

"Thanks,” Steve says. "Let’s get going.”

———

It takes nearly seven hours to get to St. Louis. It’s a straight run on I-70 — Bucky’s nervous at first, squinting at every exit sign, but he gets bored about halfway through and decides on a nap.

Steve expects it to get lonely with Bucky sleeping, but it’s kind of nice. He focuses on the road most of the time, and sometimes when he glances to the side he sees Bucky’s face, softened with sleep.

Steve used to sleep over at Bucky’s house, before Steve’s mom got sick. Bucky brought a pillow into the living room and put the couch cushions on the floor, and somehow always managed to get Steve to sleep on the couch instead. Sometimes Steve would wake up at night, and instead of going back to sleep just look down at Bucky’s face.

In the dark Bucky’s features were smudged like a pencil drawing, the edges of them softened; and that’s the way Steve loved Bucky best.

———

Bucky stirs awake as Steve is pulling into the city. "What’s that?” he says sleepily, and points into the distance. On the riverside, something gleaming extends into the sky, tall above the buildings.

"I don’t know,” Steve says. He glances at the clock; it’s a little before six. "Want to go see it?”

They leave the car in a parking garage and walk toward the structure. Up close, it’s a stunning thing, a great mass of metal arching up. "Look,” Steve says, "You can go up inside it.”

"We’re closing soon,” the man at the ticket booth warns them. "This is our last trip up.”

They get into a tram car. No one else is there — they have the car all to themselves. The car sways as it starts to go up, jerking alarmingly beneath their feet. 

"You’re not gonna throw up, are you?” Bucky says suddenly.

Steve looks at him. Bucky is frowning in concern. He shifts towards Steve, until their shoulders are touching.

It comes back to Steve in a rush. "No, that was the Cyclone,” he says, grinning ruefully at the memory. "It went very fast and spun around a lot.”

"Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. "I remember.”

"You bullied me onto the Wonder Wheel after,” Steve tells him. "Told me it’d help.”

"Did it?”

"A little,” Steve says. "The city was beautiful from up there.”

The tram spills them both out onto the observation deck, to a view of the sky and the city, the sun already half-gone over the horizon. It’s beautiful here, too. It makes Steve’s heart swell in his chest.

He’s glad Bucky’s here with him, even if he only has bits and pieces of himself. He wouldn’t trade it for anything.

———

They set out for Oklahoma City the next day. Bucky takes the wheel.

It’s an uneventful drive. Steve’s beginning to get tired of endless highways. He wants to talk to Bucky but he doesn’t know what to say so he keeps quiet most of the time.

He must’ve fallen asleep at some point because Bucky nudges him awake as they’re entering Oklahoma. "Do you have quarters?” he says. "Tolls up ahead.”

Steve digs into his pocket and pulls out a couple of crumpled dollars. "Here,” he says.

"Thanks,” Bucky says, and gives him a twenty in exchange.

"Why do you keep giving me money?” Steve asks curiously. "I don’t need it.”

"If we get separated,” Bucky says. "It’s good to be prepared.”

Steve doesn’t like to think about that. "Do you think we might?” he asks. "Why would we?”

Bucky’s pulling up to the toll booth now. He waits until he gets waved through to answer. "I don’t know,” he says, and doesn’t look at Steve. "Just in case.”

———

"Do you want to go out to eat?” Bucky asks abruptly while they’re looking for a motel. "I figured you might be tired of cereal.”

"Sure,” Steve says. "Pick a place.”

Bucky shrugs and eventually pulls up to a Waffle House. "Let’s see if they’re any good,” he says.

It smells good, at least. The server seats them by a window. Bucky scans the diner and scowls at the number of people there.

"Relax,” Steve tells him, "No one’s trying to kill us.”

"You say that now,” Bucky says darkly. Steve starts laughing at him and can’t stop for a long time. He chokes down laughter long enough to order a water and starts up again when the server leaves.

Eventually, Bucky cracks a smile. Steve thinks he looks beautiful.

Steve orders two plain waffles, because they’re in a place called Waffle House and he’s hungry. Bucky tells him to be adventurous and gets a pecan waffle with eggs on the side.

The waffles come with whipped cream and butter and a tiny pitcher of syrup. Bucky looks approving when Steve pours half of it over his plate and tries to slide him an egg.

"You need protein,” Bucky says when Steve blocks him with his fork.

"I’ve eaten half a jar of peanut butter since Columbus,” Steve points out. "Eat your eggs.”

Bucky frowns but he stops shoving at Steve’s fork so he considers that a win. The waffles are good: light and fluffy, crispy on the outside and buttery. He scrapes whipped cream off his plate and licks it off his fork.

It’s almost like they’re eighteen and nineteen again, living together for the first time. Bucky made pancakes sometimes, and gave Steve the biggest ones. His first ones were lopsided and tasteless but he got better, eventually. Once, he put blueberries in the batter. Steve still remembers biting into one, licking his lips to get the last of the juice.

He’s been remembering a lot of things, lately.

———

Bucky passes by two motels before a third meets his approval. He checks them in quickly and herds Steve into the room. It’s gotten dark. He doesn’t turn on the light.

"I have to do something,” he says. "You should stay here.”

"No,” Steve says before he can think about it. "You’re not going without me.”

Bucky thinks it over. "Okay,” he says eventually. "But follow my lead.”

They drive to the other side of the city. Bucky parks by the sidewalk, under a broken streetlight. Steve extracts his shield from underneath his seat and comes around to the back. Bucky’s already pulled a rifle and a duffel bag out of the trunk. "Ready?” he says. "Follow me.”

It feels good, walking down the street with his shield on his arm. He hadn’t realized he missed the weight of it, the way it focused him. He focuses on Bucky now: the way he moves, each step fluid and solid.

Bucky stops in front of a warehouse. There’s a fence surrounding the place. Bucky climbs it easily, gestures for Steve to follow.

"If we’re lucky,” Bucky says into Steve’s ear, "No one will even be here.”

———

Steve knocks out a guard on patrol while Bucky’s picking the lock. "Not so lucky,” he says wryly.

"Did he see you?” Bucky asks urgently. "They can’t know we’re here.”

"He didn’t see the shield,” Steve says. "Don’t kill him.”

Bucky hesitates with his hand on the doorknob. "I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says.

"He didn’t see me,” Steve says. He holds Bucky’s gaze until Bucky sighs and and drops his eyes.

"Okay,” he says, and pushes open the door. He doesn’t let Steve in until he’s shot out all the security cameras.

Inside, the place is full of boxes. Bucky skirts them all and heads straight for a room on the second floor. It looks like an office of some kind. Steve looks curiously at the paper littering the desk while Bucky’s opening the safe.

"Don’t touch anything,” Bucky warns. "Fingerprints.”

"Right,” Steve says. He can’t make any sense of the papers anyway. He abandons them to wander over to the safe instead.

Bucky’s already lifted out a stack of twenties from the shelf. He counts out ten and hands them to Steve.

"Will you stop doing that,” Steve says, but shoves the money in his pocket. Bucky shrugs and goes back to picking out MREs.

"Beef or chicken?” he asks, holding up two packages. "I think the beef is better.”

"Okay,” Steve says. "Hang on. These are military issue.”

Bucky starts packing MREs into his bag. He doesn’t say anything.

"Hydra’s more than just SHIELD, isn’t it,” Steve says. He resists the urge to rub his face. "How many people, Buck? how big are they?”

"I don’t know,” Bucky says. "I’m sure they have someone placed in the Department of Defense.”

"How did it get like this,” Steve asks. "How did _we_ get like this?”

Bucky closes the safe and stands up. "I don’t know,” he says. His mouth twists. "Sorry.”

"It’s not your fault.” Steve sighs. "Let’s get out of here.”

———

Bucky’s halfway up the fence when someone shouts, "Hey!”

"Go!” Steve tells him, but Bucky’s already dropping back down to the ground. He rolls to his feet and steps forward, between Steve and the sound.

There is a gunshot. Bucky jerks, once, and crumples.

"No!” the word bursts out of Steve’s throat. He heaves his shield into the darkness and hears the dull thump of metal meeting flesh. “Bucky,” he says, dropping to his knees, "Please be alive.”

A touch at his hand. Bucky. Steve looks down at where Bucky’s weakly grasping his fingers.

"There’ll be more,” Bucky whispers. "Get out of here.”

"Shut up,” Steve says. "I’m taking you with me.”

They can’t climb up the fence like this. Steve retrieves his shield and slams the edge against the lock at the gates. The chain slides apart.

"C’mon,” he mutters, throwing Bucky’s arm over his shoulder. He wraps his own arm around Bucky’s torso and heaves him up. Bucky lets out a pained noise.

"Sorry,” Steve says. "Just hang on.”

Steve can hear Bucky’s breathing getting shallower and shallower as they walk. Bucky’s shirt is getting sticky with blood. He’s trying not to jostle him too much but Bucky’s boots keep catching on the sidewalk.

It’s a relief when Steve sees their car parked ahead. He gently sets Bucky on the hood. Bucky’s head lolls a little on his shoulders. "I’m just going to grab the car keys, okay?” he tells Bucky, and reaches into his pocket. Bucky stirs a little, but doesn’t make a sound.

Steve lays Bucky out on the back seat and starts up the car. He runs a few red lights getting back to the motel.

———

In the light Bucky looks even worse than Steve had imagined. His face is very white. Blood is soaking almost the entire front of Bucky’s shirt.

“‘s not as bad as you think,” Bucky says. "I heal fast.”

"You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Steve says. He strips Bucky of his jacket and then his shirt. Underneath, Bucky’s torso is streaked in red. The wound stands out, round and dark against the skin. There’s no exit wound.

"First aid kit,” Bucky mutters. "My bag.”

Steve finds the kit and brings it over to the bed. Bucky feels inside it until he comes up with a pair of tweezers.

"No,” Steve says immediately. "You need a hospital.”

"Please,” Bucky says. "I trust you.”

"I could kill you,” Steve says, looking down at his hands.

"Better you than Hydra,” Bucky says.

Steve takes a deep breath. "Okay,” he says. "Do you want something to bite down on?”

Bucky gives him a wan smile. "Just do it,” he says, and closes his eyes.

Steve angles the tabletop lamp so it’s shining into the wound. Blood keeps bubbling up, sluggish. He puts one hand on Bucky’s abdomen to keep him steady and presses the tweezers into the wound.

Bucky doesn’t make a sound, but the tendons are standing out on his neck. Steve tamps down the impulse to ask if he’s okay and forces himself to keep going. Very slowly, the tweezers sink into the wound, and Steve thinks that he might just be doing even more damage to Bucky’s body, that Bucky might bleed out like this right underneath his hands, but he can’t think about that, he can’t —

And then the tweezers hit something and Bucky jerks.

"That’s the bullet,” Steve says, "Don’t move.”

“‘m trying,” Bucky says. Sweat is forming at his temples. "Can you get it out?”

It’s hard getting a good grip on the bullet. Fresh blood wells up from the wound as Steve tries to maneuver the tweezers. Once, he jabs too sharply and Bucky howls.

"I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, stroking his palm against Bucky’s side. He’s trembling; they’re both trembling.

The bullet emerges, bit by bit. More blood comes with it. Steve sets the bullet on the nightstand and presses gauze to the wound. He holds his hands there, watching them rise and fall with Bucky’s breathing, and waits for the bleeding to stop.

———

He doesn’t know if Bucky sleeps through the night. At some point he falls asleep too, and doesn’t wake up until morning.

"You can let go now,” Bucky says with a hand at Steve’s wrist. "I think it’s stopped bleeding.”

Bucky’s right. The gauze is stiff and spotted with dried blood. It sticks to the wound when Steve tries to check underneath it, and Bucky lets out a hiss through his teeth.

"Let’s get you in the shower,” Steve decides. Bucky gets to his feet with a groan, and wobbles. Steve slides an arm around Bucky before he stumbles.

The bathroom’s a little cramped. Bucky leans against the wall and takes a couple of deep breaths.

"I might need some help,” he says, not looking at Steve.

"It’s not a problem,” Steve says. He strips Bucky out of his pants and underwear and tries to keep his touch light, clinical. He’s seen Bucky naked before. Bucky’s done the same.

Bucky takes the bar of soap Steve offers him and steps into the tub. He draws the shower curtain; a moment later, Steve hears the water start.

He thinks he should leave. He picks up Bucky’s pants and rubs at the fabric, stiff with blood. They probably can’t salvage them.

Over the water, Bucky says, "You might as well come in here.”

"What,” Steve says.

"I can barely stand, Rogers,” Bucky says. "And we need to get out of here fast.”

Right. That makes sense. "Okay,” Steve says, and slowly pulls his T-shirt over his head. His hands shake a little as he undoes his fly and steps out of his pants. He folds his clothes and sets them on top of the toilet tank lid before he enters the shower.

Bucky’s leaning against the shower wall. His hair is slicked flat to his skull. Water slides down his chest, follows the dip of his hips. Steve can feel himself going hot.

"Here,” Bucky says, and hands him the soap. Steve takes it, small and slippery against his palm, and remembers: baths in Brooklyn, water heated on the stove, and the quick stinging showers of the army barracks.

There’s still dried blood streaked across Bucky’s torso. "C’mon,” he tells Bucky, and starts to wash him: gently, gently.

The gauze peels off slowly in the wet heat. Bucky doesn’t make a sound while Steve works around the wound, his fingers laid carefully against Bucky’s stomach. Steve thinks, very briefly, about pressing his mouth to that skin, wet and pink with heat.

He’s looking up at Bucky, blinking water out of his eyes. Bucky looks back at him. He has a hand on Steve’s shoulder. His thumb strokes the line of Steve’s collarbone.

"I got you,” Steve realizes he is saying. "I got you, Buck.”

"I got you too,” Bucky says. Steve doesn’t know what that means.

———

They drip all over the bathroom floor getting themselves dry. Bucky’s towel comes away pink-tinged when he pats at the wound but it’s not the brilliant red that had been spilling from him yesterday.

They stumble out of the bathroom together. Steve settles Bucky on the bed, sitting up against the headboard, and picks more gauze and tape out of the first aid kit. He also finds a small tube of antibiotic cream.

"Don’t need it,” Bucky says.

Steve remembers Bucky saying, _I heal fast_. He thinks about the Red Skull, the imperfect serum. Zola.

"They experimented on you,” he says. He starts bandaging the wound because he needs something to do with his hands.

"They’ve been doing that for a long time,” Bucky says.

“Bucky —” Steve starts. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say. Something angry, perhaps. He picks up Bucky’s hand and grasps his fingers tight.

"Just finish it,” Bucky says, looking down at the wound. He sounds tired.

It takes Steve another minute to let Bucky go. He lets his breath out through his nose and finishes up bandaging the wound.

Bucky’s out of spare clothing. Steve ends up dressing him in a spare white T-shirt and his extra pair of pants. It’s strange seeing Bucky in the same clothes he’s wearing; Steve is almost relieved when Bucky shrugs back into his jacket.

Steve takes a minute to pack up their things and stow them in the car. When he comes back, Bucky’s playing with the bullet in his hands.

"Let’s go,” Steve says, and offers him an arm. Bucky folds the bullet into Steve’s hand before pulling himself up.

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that. He slips the bullet into his pocket and puts it out of his mind.

———

Bucky sleeps a lot on the way to Albuquerque. Steve wakes him up every half hour to make him drink more water.

"You shouldn’t worry about me so much,” Bucky says while they’re at a rest stop. "I can handle myself.”

"You got shot,” Steve says, blinking at him. "You got shot protecting me.”

"Yes,” Bucky says. He says his words slowly. "You — you’re important to me.”

Steve feels his heart clench. He swallows and takes hold of Bucky’s hand. “Bucky,” he says softly, "You’re important to me, too.”

"I know,” he says carelessly. Then he looks sideways, out the window. "Yeah,” he says, gripping Steve’s hand tighter, "I know.”

A moment passes. Steve listens to his heart pound in his ear.

"Drink some water,” he finally says. He untangles their hands and passes Bucky the water bottle.

Bucky grins, just a little, and says, "Yes, sir.”

———

It’s still light out when Steve pulls off I-40. He circles around for a bit to find a motel Bucky approves of.

Bucky insists on checking them in. "You don’t have an ID,” he says. That bit’s true — Steve didn’t bother bringing his wallet with him.

"And you do?” Steve asks. He can’t believe he hasn’t asked before.

"Fake.” Bucky shrugs. "Good enough.”

So Bucky gets them a room, while Steve waits outside. He can see Bucky leaning against the desk as he talks, but his gait is fairly steady when he walks out with the key in his hands.

"I told you,” Bucky says when Steve tries to take his arm, "I heal fast.”

Steve makes Bucky lie down in their room anyway and heats up an MRE. "Don’t get up,” he says, and tries to look stern. From the quirk of Bucky’s mouth, he doesn’t succeed very well.

Bucky might be healing but Steve’s muscles are aching for a run. Also, his stubble’s three days old and it doesn’t exactly match his hair.

"If you’re gone for more than an hour, I’m coming after you,” Bucky says, frowning into his beef. "Be careful.”

"I’m always careful,” Steve grins, and sets out.

———

He can’t run, exactly, but he takes long strides and it feels nice to stretch his legs. He wanders for a bit, keeping an eye out for some kind of corner store. Eventually, he finds a CVS and gets a pack of razors.

He sees the bookshop while he’s slowly circling back. It’s small and cramped and Steve’s not sure why it caught his eye. He opens the door anyway, hearing the bell jingle, and ducks inside.

Books are stacked everywhere. Steve has to maneuver carefully not to knock anything over. He presses his hand on top of a wobbling book and walks deeper into the store.

Bucky liked science fiction, Steve remembers. Days when Steve was sick, he’d come by with magazine in hand, sprawl on top of Steve’s legs and read out loud until his voice went hoarse. When Steve felt better, he drew pictures for Bucky: tiny men in space, orbiting a different sun; a shining, gleaming new New York.

The future hasn’t been kind to Bucky, but Steve picks up a collection of short stories anyway.

———

Bucky’s pacing in front of the door when Steve comes back to the room.

"I thought I told you not to get up,” Steve says.

"You weren’t here,” Bucky says.

Steve tears open another MRE. "C’mon,” he says. "At least sit with me while I eat.”

Bucky sighs, but he sits on the edge of the bed and watches while Steve mixes his powdered drink. The food’s alright — he’s definitely eaten worse. He gives Bucky his snack bar and half the crackers, and they share the peanut butter between them.

Afterwards Steve is pleasantly full and feeling warm. Bucky’s lying down with his head on the pillow and eyes half-closed, while Steve’s propped up on the headboard. Bucky’s shoulder occasionally bumps into his hip. He wants to press his hand against Bucky’s hair.

"Can I read to you?” he asks Bucky instead. "I picked up a book while I was out.”

Bucky looks up at him. Steve can see the line of his throat. "If you’d like,” he says, quiet.

Steve opens up the book and starts reading.

He skips the first story about a man turning into machine, and the second one about interstellar war. The third is called "A Martian Odyssey,” and that seems safe enough.  

He angles the lamp so the light’s not too much in Bucky’s face. Bucky makes a contented hum in his throat and presses up more firmly against Steve’s side.

It takes Steve a while to realize that the story is familiar. He remembers Bucky reading it to him. When Bucky read he had a different voice for every character: low and raspy for the German, high and thready for Tweel. He sketched out cities in the air between his hands and sometimes got so excited he’d turn and grab Steve by the shoulders.

Steve doesn’t have Bucky’s talent for storytelling. He sticks to one voice and just tries not to stumble over the words. He wonders if Bucky remembers this story, too — wonders if Bucky remembers any of it, his voice going raspy in the afternoon air and their shoulders aligned, touching.

He doesn’t ask.

Halfway through the story Steve puts his hand down on the pillow and feels his fingers brush against Bucky’s hair. It’s soft. It tickles his palm, a little. He keeps reading, doesn’t let his voice falter, but something inside his stomach feels like it’s trembling.

Bucky’s eyelids flutter. Without a word, he presses himself upward, bit by bit, until his head is firmly pressed against Steve’s palm.

Steve draws in a breath. “Bucky —” he says.

"Don’t stop,” Bucky says, low.

So Steve keeps reading, old familiar words under the lamplight, and carefully strokes his hand over Bucky’s hair. Bucky sighs and closes his eyes; in the shadows it almost looks like he’s happy.

———

Before they leave in the morning, Steve takes a minute to shave. There’s still half a bar of soap left; Steve fills the sink with warm water and pulls a razor out of the plastic packaging.

It feels good to shave. The razor rasps as he runs it over his jaw. He splashes water on his face afterwards and strokes the skin, trying to decide whether he should go for another pass.

"You look good,” he hears Bucky say. He looks up to find Bucky standing in the doorway, gazing thoughtfully at the razor.

"Thanks,” he says. He dips the razor in the sink, rinses it clean.

It occurs to Steve that Bucky used to shave every morning. Steve watched him sometimes. It made him feel strange, to watch Bucky roll up his sleeves and put the razor to his skin. He hadn’t known what it was until later, the slow burn of want.

He shakes water droplets off the razor and offers it to Bucky. Bucky hesitates for a moment before reaching out a hand.

They swap places, and now it’s Steve in the doorway, looking in. Bucky looks at the razor again, like he’s thinking, before nodding firmly and picking up the soap.

Bucky had been the one to teach Steve how to shave. That first time, Steve had nicked himself almost at once. Bucky had tipped Steve’s chin up and wiped off blood and foam with a thumb; he nearly did it again, after, feeling hot under Bucky’s gaze.

In the bathroom Bucky’s switching hands, the metal clicking a little against plastic. He tilts his head, getting the underside of his jaw, and Steve wonders at it, that hand working so delicately against Bucky’s throat.

When he’s finished, Bucky rubs a hand over his jaw and smiles, a little. "Come on,” he says cheerfully. "We got a canyon to see.”

———

It’s another six hours of driving to get to the canyon. Bucky’s alert but silent on the way. "You alright?” Steve had asked before leaving, and Bucky had snapped a little at him. Steve figures that means he’s getting his energy back.

They hike down to the edge of the canyon. It stretches out before them, pinks and reds and browns, the Colorado just a thin blue ribbon far beneath their feet.

Bucky has his hands in his pockets and is looking down. "You ever think we’d get here?” he says abruptly. "Us.”

Steve thinks about the two of them, boys dreaming in Brooklyn. Steve’s a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier now; Bucky has a metal arm and his hands are steadier than they’ve ever been. Neither of them should have made it into the new millennium and yet: here they are. Here they are.

It’s not what he thought, the Grand Canyon. It’s huge and imposing and it makes Steve feel small, in a way he hadn’t felt since the serum. He takes a step back.

Bucky’s still standing at the rim, casual. Steve looks at him outlined against the sky, is struck by a sudden fear.

“Bucky,” he says, voice shaky, "Come back.” he reaches out a hand.

Bucky looks up. "I’ve had enough of falling,” he says, wry. He takes Steve’s hand and lets Steve pull him back from the edge.

This is what he does: he keeps Bucky safe. It’s selfish but it’s true. Steve needs him.

———

They settle in for the night in a motel an hour out from the park. The sun’s going down outside the window — Steve sits down on the bed and watches the sky turn orange.

Bucky hardly winces anymore when he sits down. Steve feels the bed dip next to him, the warmth of Bucky’s body beside him.

"Wasn’t what I thought it’d be,” Bucky says softly.

"You didn’t like it?” Steve asks.

"No, no, I did,” Bucky says. "I don’t know. It was different.”

Steve thinks that over. "Yeah,” he says. He leans back on his hands. His knuckles end up pressed against Bucky’s hip.

Bucky doesn’t shift away. He tilts his head back too, looking out the window. The light casts slanting shadows over his face. Eventually, he says, "I’m sorry.”

"What for?” Steve says.

"A lot of things,” Bucky says. His words sound like they’re being dragged out of him one by one. "I was supposed to bring you here, and — here we are, except the other way around. It’d be better for you if I wasn’t like this. If I remembered everything.”

“Bucky, no,” Steve says. "I don’t need you to remember everything,” he says. "I just need — you.”

Bucky’s leaning in very close to Steve now. He can smell the faint scent of his soap. “Steve,” he says hoarsely, "Tell me something.” His hand is on Steve’s knee, his fingertips stroking his inseam. "Were we — did we —”

Steve knows what Bucky’s asking. No, they were never like that. No, they never did. But memories of their last few days are coming thick and crowded: the way their bodies fit together in the same bed, Bucky wet and shining in the shower. Bucky is slowly tipping toward him even further, like there’s something drawing them together, and Steve wants with the desperation of a man who hasn’t wanted in too long.

He doesn’t lie; that’s the best that can be said about it. Instead, he surges up, cupping Bucky’s face with both of his hands, and kisses him.

Bucky makes a triumphant sound, then. "I thought,” he says, drawing back, "I remembered.”

Steve can’t answer that. He tugs Bucky forward and kisses him again until Bucky forgets how to speak.

———

It’s the middle of the night. Bucky wakes Steve by sliding his hands over Steve’s stomach.

"Hi,” Steve says sleepily. It’s easy to ignore the curl of guilt in his stomach when Bucky’s thumb is pushing up the hem of his shirt.

"Let’s go to San Francisco,” Bucky says into Steve’s ear. "We’ll see the Golden Gate bridge. We can swim in the Pacific.”

Steve turns in Bucky’s grasp so he’s looking at him instead. "Do you want to?” he asks. "Go. With me.”

Bucky kisses him, softly. "All the time,” he says. "I want to — take you somewhere. Make you happy.”

"You already do,” Steve says. The words come out of his throat a little wobbly. "But yeah, Buck. Let’s go see San Francisco.”

Two days later they’re staring up at the Golden Gate bridge.

Steve remembers, back in ‘37, when the bridge hit the papers. Bucky brought home a folded sheet of newsprint with a black-and-white photo and grinned at Steve over dinner. "Longest suspension bridge,” Bucky had said. "We’re gonna go see it one day, you and me.”

It’s not the longest in the world anymore, but Steve doesn’t care about that. It’s the memory of it that matters — that, against all odds, Bucky _has_ managed to bring him here, just the two of them, dwarfed by a feat of engineering.

———

They go to the beach, after. Steve gets a pair of swimming trunks from a shop nearby; Bucky picks up a bottle of sunscreen and then stops, a little puzzled.

"You used to burn,” he says, not a question.

Bucky freckled in the sun; Steve burned. He doesn’t know if the serum cured that for him. He hasn’t been out on a beach since before the war started.

"Yeah,” he says, "I did.” He takes the bottle from Bucky’s hand and puts it on the checkout counter, next to the towels.

Bucky refuses to go in the water at all and only swaps out his jacket for one of Steve’s long-sleeved shirts. He looks very serious sitting cross-legged on a towel in the sand, his left hand still gloved. Steve laughs at him and then laughs again at the look on Bucky’s face.

He peels off his shirt leaning against Bucky’s shoulder. "Here,” Bucky says, and sets him upright so he can rub sunscreen onto Steve’s back. The sun in his eyes, Bucky’s thumb stroking underneath Steve’s shoulder blades — it’s the happiest Steve’s felt since he woke up off the ice.

The sea spray is cool on his face and the waves curl around his calves. He wiggles his toes into the sand and looks back at Bucky back on the beach. Bucky gives him a grin and a wave.

Steve wades deeper in, all the way up to his chest. He’s swaying with the water, and his feet are skimming above the ground now. Seaweed wraps around his ankles and then falls away again.

The sun is lowering in the sky but it’s not near setting yet. In the liquid heat, Steve thinks he could go on forever: swim out, and out, until both he and the world disappeared altogether.

But then, of course, he wouldn’t have Bucky with him.

Bucky’s just a tiny figure in the distance now, but Steve imagines he can still see him. He’d tied back his hair in the heat, and donned a pair of plastic sunglasses. Perhaps he’s sleeping, stretched out under the sun; or perhaps he’s still curled into himself, waiting for Steve to come back. Always waiting, faithful, though Steve had taken him for granted for too long.

He knows he should tell Bucky the truth about them. But that would mean admitting a bigger truth about himself: that for all the serum did for him, he’s still a coward through and through. He loved Bucky, and never once thought about telling him. And he told himself that it was because Bucky deserved better, but what he wanted most of all was to love him the way he ought to and nothing more.

He’d always wanted to be a better man than he was.

The tide brings him in. He’s wrung out, exhausted. Bucky wades into the surf after him and picks him up out of the water, even over Steve mumbling that he doesn’t need any help.

"Yeah, I know,” Bucky says, and brushes Steve’s hair out of his eyes. He has a hand around Steve’s waist and he’s pressed to Steve’s side, heedless of the water dripping onto his clothes.

"God, I love you,” Steve says, and kisses him.

Bucky tastes wet, like salt — like Steve could drown in him. Steve licks at Bucky’s mouth. He can’t stop touching him. The wind’s coming up and Bucky’s the only warm thing he knows.

"Come on,” Bucky says, laughing. "You’re delirious, Rogers.”

———

Steve doesn’t realize it until far past dinner, when Bucky’s stripping him out of his clothes and pushing him into the shower. "You’re getting sand everywhere,” he says. "C’mon, Rogers, budge up.”

Steve pulls at Bucky’s clothes with shaky hands. "I meant it, you know,” he says suddenly. "I love you.”

Bucky goes quiet while Steve tugs him out of his pants. "Yeah, I know,” he finally says. He follows Steve into the shower. His words are nearly blurred by the water. "I know.”

But he’s kissing Steve back hot and frantic and that’s what Steve needs right now. Bucky’s cock is hardening against Steve’s thigh and Steve tugs him closer with something like a sob caught in his throat.

"Come on, Buck,” Steve whispers into the crook of Bucky’s neck. "I want this.” He twists around, spits in his hand. He doesn’t use enough fingers and it’s going to hurt afterwards.

"Are you sure —” Bucky says. His hair’s slicked across his forehead and he’s frowning against the water.

"Put it in me, Barnes,” Steve says, ragged, and it turns out that Bucky is human after all.

———

At night Bucky arranges them so his body is pressed tight against Steve’s back and his nose is in Steve’s hair. "Out of everything,” he says thoughtfully,  "I always liked this best.”

"You’re a sap,” Steve says, but it doesn’t come out as light-hearted as it should. He doesn’t know what Bucky’s remembering but it can’t be the truth, because they never — they weren’t. Steve was too proud for that.

Bucky laughs softly. "Go to sleep, Rogers,” he says. He sounds very fond.

Steve does go to sleep, eventually. He goes to sleep with Bucky’s arms around him and Bucky’s breathing quiet in his ear, and it doesn’t feel strange at all.

———

They spend the day in. Bucky has the TV turned on, but neither of them are paying much attention to it. Steve reads a bit more, and lets Bucky put his head on Steve’s knee while he listens.

Bucky’s eyes are half-lidded. Steve thinks he’s falling asleep until Bucky looks up with his eyes dark. "Do you want to?” he asks.

Steve doesn’t know what he’s asking. He shifts a little and Bucky moves so his face is half-pressed against Steve’s crotch.

"Oh,” Steve says, breath caught in his throat, and that seems to be enough for Bucky. He mouths at Steve’s cock through the fabric of his pants. Already Steve’s getting hard against the firm press of Bucky’s mouth.

“Bucky,” Steve says thickly. He presses his hand against his thigh. Bucky’s hair brushes against the back of his hand, a counterpoint to the damp heat at his cock.

"Lie back,” Bucky says, a hand on Steve’s hip. Steve finds himself whining a little as he leans back until his head hits the headboard.

"You’re a goddamn tease,” Steve says darkly. Bucky’s got a hand under Steve’s shirt and is stroking the skin just above the waistband, but he’s made no move to unfasten his fly.

Bucky grins up at him. "Oh yeah,” he says, very pleased. "I like you like this.” he presses down on the crotch of Steve’s pants, so his dick is outlined clearly against the fabric, and strokes at him through the cloth. He’s mouthing at the button of Steve’s pants now, his nose pressed against the soft skin of Steve’s belly. Steve clutches at the sides of the mattress in an effort to keep from driving his hips up.

Bucky finally, finally undoes Steve’s fly and slides the waistband of his briefs over his cock and down his thighs. Steve hisses a bit as the cool air hits his dick, and again as Bucky’s mouth closes over it, damp lips around the head of his cock. And then Bucky stops moving, looks up coyly through his lashes with Steve’s dick just resting in his mouth.

"You gonna take a nap, or actually do some work?” Steve says.

Bucky gives him a friendly pat on the thigh and then licks down the length of him. He’s laughing, and Steve can feel that as Bucky takes him in and starts to suck.

Steve doesn’t last very long, not with the way Bucky’d been teasing him. He manages to mumble out a warning before he comes, but Bucky doesn’t pull off, instead licks him through the orgasm until Steve’s done shaking.

Afterwards, Bucky climbs up and rests his head on the pillow next to Steve, tucking himself in Steve’s arms. Steve strokes his hair and tries to work up the courage to reciprocate.

This is all wrong, Steve knows. He never should have kissed Bucky to begin with.

———

Bucky takes a shower in the afternoon and comes out of the bathroom naked. Steve starts to look him over with a grin that’s meant to be casual but his mouth goes dry in the middle.

Bucky was never self-conscious about his body to begin with, and the army stripped whatever shyness he had left out of him. He doesn’t flush under Steve’s gaze, just puts his hands on his hips and grins.

"Like what you see, Rogers?”

Steve clears his throat and finally gets his voice together. "C’mere,” he says, reaching for him, "Come _here_ , Bucky, god —”

He’s on his feet, kissing Bucky. Bucky cups Steve’s head in his warm hands and kisses back, and Steve suddenly wants, needs more than this. He presses Bucky back until he bumps into the foot of the bed and sits down on the covers with an exhale.

Before Bucky can say a word, Steve is sinking to the floor between Bucky’s knees and reaching for his cock.

Bucky’s cock is still soft when Steve takes it into his mouth. Steve sucks at it anyway, feeling it firm up on his tongue. He can taste warm skin, and above that, a faint hint of salt.

“Steve,” Bucky says. His hand is on Steve’s face, carefully stroking his jaw. Steve leans into the touch and takes Bucky deeper into his throat. He’s nearly choking on it.

Steve closes his eyes. He knows his hands are digging into Bucky’s thighs too tightly but he can’t let go. Bucky’s cock hits the back of his throat and Steve fights down his gag reflex; tiny whimpers are coming out of his mouth and his eyes are watering, but he needs — he can’t —

Bucky is pulling him off his cock. “Steve,” Bucky says, "christ. Steve.”

Steve blindly reaches for Bucky’s cock, and Bucky gathers Steve’s wrists together in his hands. “Steve, stop,” he says. "What are you doing?”

Steve is breathing hard. He presses his forehead to the inside of Bucky’s thigh and shudders. "Sorry,” he says. His voice is raspy. "Sorry,” he says again. He doesn’t look up.

Bucky pulls him onto the bed with him. "Don’t be sorry,” he says forcefully. "You don’t have to be sorry.” he’s kissing Steve’s mouth, his throat, his hands.

Steve lets Bucky lay him down on the bed. It’s easier, maybe, to let Bucky do the moving — Bucky clasping their hands together, Bucky’s weight a comforting anchor on top of him.

It takes a while for Steve to get his breath back. "What the hell happened?” Bucky asks eventually. Steve just shakes his head. It’s easier to kiss Bucky than to talk about it. That was true the first time; it’s still true now.

"Hey, Steve?” Bucky says into Steve’s shoulder, long after. "Is this what it was always like?”

"What?” Steve says.

"This.” Bucky presses a kiss to the corner of Steve’s mouth. "You kiss like — like you’re sad.”

"I’m not sad,” Steve says quietly. "I’ve got you.”

"Yeah,” Bucky says, and kisses him again. "You do.”

———

The aliens come the next morning. It’s on TV by noon — somewhere in Germany, an extraterrestrial has landed.

SHIELD is backing up Tony Stark with a few of their personnel, but it looks like it’s a hard fight. Steve starts getting dressed and looks at Bucky.

Bucky’s getting up too. "We gotta help them,” he says.

"You can’t go,” Steve says. "They’re already looking for you.”

"The hell I can’t,” Bucky says. "You think i’m letting you go by yourself?”

"And I’m not letting you get captured,” Steve snaps. "Never again, Buck.”

Bucky laughs, then. "You think they can’t get me here?” he asks. "Pal, you don’t know how far Hydra’s got. You don’t know at all.”

"What do you want me to _do_ , then?”

"You can’t leave me,” Bucky shouts.

For a moment they’re just staring at each other. Steve moves first, frantically reaching for Bucky.

"I’m not leaving you,” he says against Bucky’s mouth, "I won’t, I can’t.”

"You’re an idiot, Rogers,” Bucky murmurs back, biting into Steve’s lower lip. "You wouldn’t get anywhere without me, and you know it.”

"All right,” Steve says wetly. "All right.”

———

It takes two hours for Bucky to get a fake ID for Steve. The plane tickets to D.C. Take nearly all of their cash but that’s okay.

Steve’s never been to SFO, but Bucky navigates the airport like it’s second-nature. Bucky has his bag slung over his shoulder; Steve checks the shield. It makes him a bit twitchy, but it can’t be helped.

Bucky bypasses the metal detector with a medical card. Steve takes his shoes off and goes through the line.

"You sure about this?” Steve asks Bucky when they meet on the other side. "You don’t have to do this, you know.”

"Shut up,” Bucky says. "I’m going with you.”

"Okay,” Steve says. And then he smiles a little and bumps their shoulders together. “Bucky,” he says. "Aliens.”

For a moment, Bucky’s expression is bright and almost awed. "Yeah,” he says. "I _know_.”

———

Bucky waits for Steve to take the window seat and then slides into the middle one next to him. Steve feels all wired up but the plane is quiet — he fiddles with a pair of cheap headphones and tries to steady himself.

Bucky, on the other hand, is perfectly calm. He buckles himself in and then falls straight asleep. His head falls forward slightly and his hair obscures his face. He’s got his gloves back on and his arms crossed, covering the flash of metal at his wrist.

Steve digs up a pen out of his pocket and rips a page from the SkyMall catalogue. It’s a little tricky to maneuver himself in the tiny seat, but he manages; he sets the page on his knee and starts to draw.

Bucky wakes up while they’re flying over Ohio. Steve’s managed to get a decent portrait of Bucky, after three tries. His hands are smeared with ink, but he’s proud of what he’s done: it’s recognizably Bucky, hard-edged. It’s not like any of the Buckys he kept in his memories, faded and going thin at the edges. This Bucky feels deadly, precise.

Bucky looks at the picture first, and then he looks up. “Steve,” he says, and something about his tone makes Steve’s heart sink. He’s never sounded like this before: shaken, plaintive.

"Tell me we were,” Bucky says. "Tell me that wasn’t the first time, Steve —”

 _What’s one more lie_ , Steve thinks bleakly, but he can’t do this anymore, he can’t.

He looks away and says, "I’m sorry.”

" _Fuck_ you,” Bucky says viciously, "And fuck your apologies.”

Steve closes his eyes. "I’ll go,” he says. "After this. I’ll go and you won’t have to see me again.”

"Go where?” Bucky says. "I’ve only got you.”

That’s true, Steve realizes. Bucky had one person he trusted, one person to guard his memories and keep him safe, and he couldn’t do it. There’s the bitterness of failure on his tongue. "I’m sorry,” he says again. He doesn’t look at Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t say anything else. The plane keeps going, shuddering a little.

———

It’s dark when they land in D.C. Steve picks up his shield from baggage claim; it doesn’t make him feel much better. They start the routine search for a motel but neither of their hearts are in it.

Nevertheless, Steve’s tired when they finally get a room. "Take the bed,” he tells Bucky. "I can manage.”

"I slept on the plane,” Bucky says. "You can take it.”

“Bucky —”

"Stop talking,” Bucky snarls. "Take the damn bed.”

Steve takes the bed and watches Bucky draw up a chair by the door. It takes a while for him to fall asleep.

———

In the morning they walk to the Triskelion. "You should stay outside,” Steve says. "What if they recognize you?”

"They’re not going to capture me in broad daylight.” Bucky is brusque, dismissive. "Let’s just find your Fury.”

Nick Fury, as it turns out, is not at the Triskelion. The best answer they get is somewhere near New York.

"Are you okay with going to New York?” Steve asks carefully.

"Looks like we’ll have to,” Bucky says, his tone final.

They end up spending the rest of their cash to rent a motorcycle. "You drive,” Bucky tells him, putting on his helmet.

"All right,” Steve says. He wants to say something more but Bucky’s expression is closed off. He gets on the bike and waits for Bucky to get on behind him.

The bike tips a little as Bucky gets on, and then Bucky’s hands are on Steve’s hip. "Okay,” Bucky says, leaning forward to make sure Steve hears.

Steve kicks off and revs the engine.

———

When they get to New York, the battle’s already started. There are aliens everywhere. Cars are overturned. The city’s on fire.

There’s a policeman battling an alien on foot. Steve takes out the alien from behind with his shield.

"Set up a perimeter,” he tells the policeman before he can say anything. "All the way back to 39th. There are civilians in the buildings. Take them underground — do not stay up here.”

Steve sees the alien coming at him from the left. He falls backwards and Bucky shoots the alien in the face. The policeman watches them fight, and then nods and radios the others.

"Thanks,” he says to Bucky a little awkwardly. He feels stupid almost immediately. Bucky’s not going to let him die because he hates him — Bucky’s not that kind of man.

"Yeah,” Bucky says. "Come on. We gotta find a more defensible position.”

———

The problem is, it’s really easy fighting with Bucky. Iron Man flies overhead and occasionally there’s a green blur in the air but mostly it’s just him and Bucky. Steve throws his shield and kicks an alien in the ankle, and then ducks so Bucky’s knife buries itself in the alien’s throat. Bucky catches an alien by the shoulder and holds him so Steve can punch it in the stomach. They don’t have to talk. When Steve needs him Bucky is there. It’s so much like old times it hurts.

A redhead woman drops by driving an alien vehicle. “So you’re Captain America,” she says to Steve, looking him over. “Who’s the other guy?”

She’s gone before he can reply. He exchanges a bemused glance with Bucky before he remembers and hurriedly looks away again.

He and Bucky always fit together like this. He should have known, before, what it meant. He realizes now that he needs Bucky more than anything he gained by pushing Bucky away.

And now he’s ruined it all. Bucky will never trust him again.

Steve steps back and stumbles over an alien corpse. He tries to catch himself with a hand and an alien steps on his fingers. He bites down on a shout and goes down, banging his side heavily on the ground.

He swallows a groan and tries to get up, but something hits him on the head. He blinks.

His vision is going black at the edges. He sees Bucky reaching out to grab an alien. He sees the alien aiming a weapon at him. Far away, at the edge of a building, there’s a man with a bow looking at them.

"Sorry, Buck,” he mumbles, and then everything happens at once. Steve closes his eyes against the searing pain in his head —

———

When Steve wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed and Bucky is holding his hand.

“Bucky?” he says. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth and it’s hard to form words. "What’re you —”

Bucky’s head snaps up. “Steve.” He smiles, very bright. "You’re awake.”

"Of course I’m awake,” Steve says. He holds his hand up. Bucky isn’t letting go. "What are you doing here?”

Bucky looks at him like he’s ridiculous. "You got hurt,” he says.

"Yes,” Steve says, impatient. "But you. Before, I mean. I lied to you.” Steve looks away, feeling the guilt rise up in his throat.

Bucky shrugs. "I know,” he says. "And I was mad for a while. But I’m not gonna let you be in the hospital by yourself.”

"So that’s it?” Steve says incredulously. "You’re gonna forgive me because I was an idiot and got hurt?”

"Look,” Bucky says. "I know what it’s like to wake up alone. I —” he hesitates. "I didn’t want you to go through that.”

"I lied to you about your _memories_ ,” Steve insists. "I made you think something that wasn’t ever real. That’s — I did the same thing Hydra did to you.” He finally pulls his hand away. "You can’t be here.”

Bucky laughs sharply. "How dare you, Rogers,” he says. "You can’t even begin to compare — you think what you did has anything to do with what Hydra did? I’m never going back to Hydra,” he says, voice shaking. "Never. But I came back to you.”

"Are you sure about this?” Steve says. He feels his heart expanding, hope bubbling up. "I don’t want you to feel — obligated to stay with me, because you’re not, Buck — you’re free to choose —”

"I know,” Bucky says. "And I choose you.”

He looks at where Steve’s hand is resting on the bed and deliberately picks it up again. Steve looks down; and then, swallowing past the tightness in his throat, he ducks down and presses a kiss to the ridge of Bucky’s knuckles.

———

They’ve finished talking and moved onto kissing when Fury comes into the room.

"Cap,” he says stiffly. "Is that —”

"Nick,” Steve says, and waves a hand at Bucky. "This is Bucky Barnes. He’s a friend.”

Fury has a face that’s hard to read but Steve thinks he looks surprised. "I see,” he says slowly, trying to recover. "We’ve been looking for you, Cap.”

"One of the reasons I went away,” Steve says. "Didn’t really feel like being watched.”

"You’re gonna tell me it’s got nothing to do with your new friend here?”

"He helped,” Steve says blandly. "That’s not a crime.”

Fury looks Bucky over. Steve has the feeling he’s thinking furiously. Finally, he says, "Why don’t you come back to SHIELD? Both of you.”

"No,” Bucky says immediately.

"Not gonna happen,” Steve agrees.

"May I ask why?”

Steve looks at Bucky. Bucky flicks his gaze at Fury and says, low, "Do you trust him?”

Steve doesn’t, exactly. Nick Fury is a man of secrets. But he doesn’t think the man is Hydra. He’s only got his gut feelings to go on, but he’s trusted people under worse odds before.

"Well, Nick,” Steve says, holding Bucky’s hand tight. They can do this, together. "SHIELD has been compromised.”

**Author's Note:**

> ETA: There is now a DVD commentary version [here](http://radialarch.dreamwidth.org/831.html).


End file.
